


My Side, Your Side, Our Side.

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Apocalypse, very vague ideation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They boarded the bus after the near end of the world in absolute silence. Undoubtably, both were thinking about what lay ahead, and what lay ahead looked like nothing more than a big glaring question mark and an almost certain death.





	My Side, Your Side, Our Side.

They boarded the bus after the near end of the world in absolute silence. Undoubtably, both were thinking about what lay ahead, and what lay ahead looked like nothing more than a big glaring question mark and an almost certain death.  
Without warning, Crowley reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. His breath caught in his throat.

“What’re- ?”

“Listen to me.” In all his urgency, Crowley’s voice came out like a hiss. “ _LISTEN TO ME._ ” It was almost enough to make Aziraphale recoil with fright. There was a glimmer of malevolence as yellow eyes peered over black frames. Aziraphale involuntarily began to shake with fear and Crowley released his hand.

“Sorry, I — um.” Crowley shifted in his seat, giving the angel some breathing space. The thought of what tomorrow might bring was bouncing around in his head, an earsplitting cacophony of sounds and sheer panic. He brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose and slowly removed his sunglasses.

“We need a plan.” Yellow eyes met blue, and he saw Aziraphale visibly soften before him. “Both sides will be looking for us and… and without the apocalypse to occupy them… you know damn well they’ll have their best scouring the earth to find us.”

Aziraphale breathed a heavy sigh, looking out the bus window up at the cloudy night.

“Well then, Alpha centuri?” He offered half heartedly, but Crowley was shaking his head.

“No, no, no. We need to throw them off our scent, a diversion.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I was thinking…” for some reason he couldn’t quite make eye contact, and stared determinedly at a stain on the lino floor.

“We should…” he moved his hands back and forth in a complicated and indiscriminate motion that explained absolutely nothing of what he was trying to communicate.

“We should, um, switch places for a bit like Agnes’ prophecy suggests.” For some reason he flushed at the mere thought of it, but Aziraphale wasn’t quite watching, rather, reciting the last prophecy to the empty bus with a newfound understanding.

“Oh, golly, that’s brilliant. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Normally Crowley would take this opportunity to swell with smugness and pride, perhaps include a biting retort like: “Of course you wouldn’t, _moron_.” Where he’d softened his tone and “moron” became a term of endearment only Hell’s finest could pull off. But Az’s enthusiastic response sent another million thoughts ricocheting through Crowley’s mind, suddenly, for the first time in what felt like centuries, he felt the gentle tug of insecurity. It was baffling.

They didn’t begin to make plans until the bus had dropped them off in London’s bustling centre, and Aziraphale had guided them to one of his favourite, obscure Chinese takeaways. The short lady with cropped black hair that stood behind the counter recognised him instantly and pounced.  
“ _Ni Hao_ , Angel.”

Crowley was slightly taken aback, it never occurred to him that anyone else called Az by that nickname. Crowley didn’t have exclusive rights to it, but nonetheless, he felt like sulking.

Az greeted the lady in polite but broken Mandarin before turning to Crowley.

“She had a bit of trouble pronouncing me name, so I simplified it.” He murmured as she began taking their order.

“Hmph.” Crowley rammed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the counter cooly.

When their order was filled, they collected the take out bag and found a deserted bench on a half light side street, where nobody would overhear.

“I imagine,” Aziraphale begun tentatively “Well, I imagine they’d quite like to use holy water should they catch you.” There was something blank and impassive about his expression. The night was cold and his eyes stung slightly. He wished Crowley would take off those glasses.

  
Crowley exhaled. “I suppose. If they’re going to be working together, I can see my lot bringing out the holy fire.”

Aziraphale flinched, bringing the napkin up to his mouth in a poor attempt to disguise his sudden panic.

“If we were to switch places—“ Crowley broke off. He thought about Az, disguised as him, wading through the grime of hell. Imagined the look of panic, almost like he was seeing now, plastered all over his face. Demons were stupid, granted, but probably not stupid enough to be fooled when Crowley lost his usual swagger.

“I can be you.” Aziraphale’s voice was almost cold. “Of course I can be you. There’s no one I know better—“

Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I mean,” Aziraphale faltered “Being a demon, easy, bad thoughts and temptation. _Oooh_ ” He threw up jazz hands halfheartedly.

Crowley slumped a little in his seat, almost hurt, but not perturbed.

“Right, right, okay.” He’d quite had enough of the conversation. Just wanted to get tomorrow over and done with.

“Well, we’ll just switch places… now… and be off?” He shrugged noncommittally, like he wouldn’t much care if Az decided he’d rather switch places with the lady from the takeaway instead.

Aziraphale sat up a bit straighter and adjusted his coat slightly. He’d sensed the tone had changed, but wasn’t exactly sure where he’d gone wrong.  
“Well, er— of course.”

Crowley held out his hand, which Aziraphale took ever so gently. There was a hum in the air and the world rippled before their eyes. When they refocused, Aziraphale found the world had grown darker, he reached his hands instinctively to his eyes to find them sheltered behind Crowley’s dark glasses and pulled them off.  
“Honestly, how you tolerate these things.”

The body of Aziraphale, which was now slightly more slumped than how the angel would normally hold himself, look back at him reproachfully.

“You’ll need to keep them on.” He drawled. “Please.” There was a touch of urgency in his voice.  
Confused, Az put the glasses back on and readjusted himself so he was almost draped over the bench.

“Better.” The real Crowley gave a small, tentative smile.

“Listen.” Crowley’s eyes flicked back and forth with a snake-like suspicion that look amiss on Aziraphale’s usually innocent features. “We can’t go about offing everyone who stands in our way. We need to keep our heads down. Get in, take our punishment…” he gulped, the rest was uncertain “…get out.”  
Az was momentarily glad for the glasses, he didn’t want Crowley to see the flicker of fear that crossed his eyes at the thought of one of them being invariably detained in the other’s world.  
“Right,” Crowley slapped his hands on his knees and stood up quite pompously, in what Az thought was an excellent imitation of himself. “Well, I’ll go back to the bookstore and…” He trailed off, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do in a bookstore “… get drunk.”

Aziraphale tipped his head slightly. “I guess I should go back to your apartment and…”

“Yell at the plants for me.” Crowley supplied helpfully.

“Right,” Az wasn’t sure how was best to part ways, switching bodies was such a bizarre experience, he wanted to hug his old body goodbye. Perhaps in case he never saw it again. Or perhaps it was the connection he’d craved since Crowley had suddenly grabbed his hand on the bus earlier, the desire to grab him with both hands and hold on tight.  
In the end they both left with a lazy wave in each other’s direction. The bookshop was only a few blocks away, but Az had to call a cab to take him downtown to reach Crowley’s regular haunt.

 

At the bookstore, Crowley got very drunk and did a lot of thinking, and then got un-drunk, then regretted it and started drinking again. Usually by the 5th drink his thoughts were enough of an incoherent mess that he no longer felt sick to the stomach at the thought of Aziraphale being dragged through the corridors of hell and didn’t shudder at the mental image of yellow eyes glaring back at him. He didn’t like his reflection at the best of times, to see him in all his disgrace right in front of him, whilst he inhabited such an image of purity, made him yearn to make his 6th drink holy water.  
“Aziraphale needs me.”

Crowley’s apartment door clicked open as if expecting the angel. Aziraphale had never visited Crowley’s place, but it was quite like he expected — like Crowley himself, it was suave and dark and modern. Somehow, strangely comforting. He paced through the corridors, caught himself, and tried to mimic Crowley’s lazy saunter.

“It’s bloody difficult” he muttered to himself, and laughed a little bit at the thought of Crowley spending millennia trying to perfect his swaggering gate. What on earth for? His hands reached up to the glasses on his head. There were pieces of a puzzle, screaming out to be pieced together but—  
Aziraphale stopped dead when his eye caught a statue sitting in an alcove of the hallway.

“What the—“ he trailed off (hell? Could he use that now he was in this body?)  
It looked to him very much like Crowley and himself embracing, because angel’s minds don’t automatically jump to war thank-you-very-much. Aziraphale approached it gingerly. He almost felt like it was something he shouldn’t be seeing, like he was intruding on a private moment. Did Crowley see this every day? He didn’t quite know what to make of it. He took some time out to vent his confusion to the plants, who rather enjoyed hearing about someone else having problems.

They met in the park, and it was almost like nothing had changed. Aziraphale had donned the glasses and assumed a passable saunter as he took a lap around the lake. Crowley as Aziraphale had somehow honed in the look of blank wonderment that seemed to be permanently pasted on Az’s face (It helped if you added “Wow” to the beginning of all of your thoughts, Crowley found, it made you constantly enthralled by the existence of everything). Before they had even had a change to catch up, the respective factions had descended on them, and Crowley found himself being dragged away by Uriel and his troops, yelling out to Aziraphale who lay injured at Hastur’s feet.

The stench that hit his nostrils upon entering hell made Aziraphale gag slightly and he tried his best to maintain composure.  
“Got a treat planned for you.” Cooed Hastur maliciously “Nice little gift from the boyfriend’s side of the family.”  
Aziraphale stayed silent, mostly because he was trying to absorb the sights of the damp, dank, trash filled hallways he was being lead through. There were screams and cries echoing out. Chains rattled and demons jeered. Perhaps, worst of all, Aziraphale heard the distinct rasp of several demons spitting on the ground. When he fronted the court, he found himself being stared down by the demons such that a shiver ran down his spine. He remained expressionless as the demons yelled his crimes out to the audience, biting Crowley’s slightly forked tongue and praying to (Satan?) that tears would not start leaking from his eyes. Like a civilian thrown in to the terrors of an active war zone, it dawned on Aziraphale that this was how things had always been for Crowley. Years and years of them meeting topside, all of his cool swagger and biting remarks belied the pain of the war zone he was forced to call home. The demons hissed and spat at him. Aziraphale imagined even if he wasn’t on trial they wouldn’t be doing much else. It was as though someone had reached in to his ribcage and begun shredding his heart in to tiny pieces. There was holy water streaming in to the bath. Suddenly Aziraphale was taken back to the idle wave as the angel and demon parted ways and he willed his mind to somehow transport him back to that moment.  
_I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I understand now. Hell is… hell._  
When he sunk in to the bath of holy water, he plastered on his most Crowley-esque smirk, trying to enjoy the baffled look of the demons that surrounded him. The water was cool and pleasant, but inside, his mind was screaming out in pain. He wanted to run to Crowley and embrace him, hold on tight and not let go.  
“Does anyone have a rubber duck?”

When they reconvened later at the park, Aziraphale relaxed as soon as he saw himself walking towards him (granted, slouching a little more than Az would usually allow but he was so relieved he let that slide.) To Crowley’s absolute mortification, the angel ran towards him like a lost puppy, wrapping his arms around him.  
After a moment, Aziraphale stiffened and stepped back.

“Sorry, I just—“ He straightened his blazer and struck a pose befitting of Crowley and cleared his throat. “Hell was…” he trailed off.

“Hell?” The demon supplied helpfully. “There’s not much else to describe it,” he half smiled bitterly. There was an uncomfortable pause.

“So should we—“ Crowley as Aziraphale made a motion with his hands as though to grab Az. Aziraphale took the cue and drew him into a tight hug, his heart soaring as he felt Crowley’s body move against him. But Crowley had hesitated, and Aziraphale drew back, tears already welling from his eyes (thank you dark glasses).

“I just meant that…” Crowley stammered “We should, change back.” Aziraphale froze in panic. Oh shit. What did he just do? Briefly he wondered if Hell would swallow him up, as a favour for old times’ sake.

“But this,” Crowley grasped the stunned angel by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in closer so that they were almost nose to nose. “I like this too.”

Aziraphale blushed a deep red as the demon pulled him in for a gentle, chaste kiss. To which the angel took to with enthusiasm and suddenly they were snogging in the middle of the park, and there were probably fireworks overheard (at least that’s what Az heard), and trumpets, and a confetti shower too because suddenly there was a next day, and the next, and they were alone in it together.


End file.
